Mystery of the Planet of the Alphans
by jemarcu
Summary: This is the 2nd entry in the "Planet of the Alphans" series. Just a preview.


Prologue

Boston, Massachusetts: October 1989

John Koenig walked down the front steps of his brownstone apartment building on Salem St., and then sprinted towards the waiting powder blue Chevy Malibu sedan double-parked on the corner. As usual, his carpool to Lexington was obscenely punctual at 7:15 a.m. As he hopped into the back seat, he reflected briefly that there were worse places in the world to be right now than New England in the autumn. The sun was low in the sky, but still warm on his face; the morning air was brisk. Now that the major league had resumed games after the War, he could catch a night game at Fenway, (although after the near miss in western Long Island, the Yankees were still on hiatus); and the trees! The trees were exploding in their annual symphony of colors. Growing up in Brooklyn, trees were an afterthought, a line-item in some petty official's budget for civic improvement. Here in Massachusetts, if you looked cross-eyed at a tree, you might find yourself in front of a local human rights commission on a charge of environmental genocide! But as the car he was riding in made its way northwest on the Concord turnpike, the thought had no power over him. He watched the beautiful Autumn-in-New England scenery pass by. He enjoyed this even more in the evening on the commute home. Work at the MIT Lincoln Lab was about as stressful as it came, and the leisurely thirty minute drive back to Boston was a great way to decompress. By the time he got home, his troubles were all behind him, the work day all but forgotten. Diana would usually be waiting for him in the flat they shared, sometimes with one of her simple but inspired dinners, other times with a line on a great local restaurant. Yes, he thought. There were worse places to be, no doubt about it, as the car pulled into the parking lot. He walked past several layers of security and took the stairs to his 3rd floor office.

He had just sat down in his cubicle and logged into his station, when someone tapped his shoulder.

"Boss wants to see you." said Renee, the department secretary.

Warily, Koenig got to his feet and trudged over to his boss's office. Now what could he possibly want me for this early? Koenig thought to himself. Dr. Todd Rhinehart's bespectacled head was barely visible over a pile of papers and manila folders on his desk.

"Ah John, come in, come in." said Rhinehart amiably. "Don't get comfortable, though." he warned, as Koenig headed for the one cracked plastic chair not piled high with papers and journals. "You're shipping out."

"What?" said Koenig?

"Moonbase Alpha is a go. I got the word late last night. You're heading to Houston for six weeks of advanced astronaut training." said Rhinehart, grinning broadly.

Koenig was pole axed for a moment. A permanent moon base had been under discussion since before the war, but with so many countries still recovering, and internal politics askew, the funding had been on hold. There had been many false starts and disappointments. Koenig had all but resigned himself to staying on at the Lincoln Lab until he was old enough to draw Social Security.

"Well," was all Koenig could say. Then he gathered himself to say something more constructive. "This is sudden."

"Don't ask me to explain why politicians do the things they do. You might not like my answer. They could have had this ten years ago." said Rhinehart, with a fatalistic shrug. "No matter. You might as well head home and start packing. You're booked on the one o'clock flight out of Logan tomorrow."

"What about the specs for the new anti-grav screens? They're due in two weeks." protested Koenig.

"Gianelli can handle those just fine, John. Don't get me wrong. Your work here has been outstanding, but we both know you're destined for bigger and better things."

"I've always wanted to go into space." Koenig answered honestly.

"Then go home. You've got some things to square away there before tomorrow." suggested Rhinehart. Koenig turned to leave, and then remembered. As if reading his mind, Rhinehart said irritably, "Just take a cab and expense it."

He spent the day packing, and making phone calls. At 4:30 Dianna walked in.. glided in was more like it. She was a voice instructor at the New England Conservatory of Music, and an accomplished ballet dancer. She seemed to float on air as she walked through the door. "John, you're home early!" she exclaimed.

"My orders came through, Di. I'm going to Moonbase Alpha!" he answered without preamble.

She smiled, threw down her gym bag and flew into his arms with a squeal. "Oh John, that's wonderful!" Then she sobered quickly. "So this is our last night" It was not a question.

"For a while, anyway." said Koenig.

She looked away. "A long while. John, lets just enjoy this last night together, ok?"

"Okay" he relented. And they did.

The first thing he noticed as he got off the airplane and started walking down the concourse was the humidity ..and the heat. Boston was well into Autumn, but here in Houston, summer still had a grip on the climate. He looked into the crowd teeming with people, and saw a man holding a sign with two names on it, his being one of them. He was about Koenig's height, but at first glance Koenig thought he would make a better linebacker than an astronaut. He was wide, muscular with thin sandy-colored hair, and a friendly face that could have advertised a number of products on TV.

"Hi, I'm John Koenig" he said to the man, extending his hand.

"James Buchanan Keller, at your service." said the big man in a fairly thick southern accent. As he tossed aside his sign. "But my friends call me Sam. Only my mama calls me James anymore. This here is Will Langenfeld." he said, indicating a dark-haired, intense looking man to his left.

After introductions, Keller led them to the rental car. A voluble man, he did most of the talking. Koenig had never been to Houston before, and watched as the scenery went by. He tried to imagine something more different than Boston, and came up short. He was anxious to get to work, but Keller waved him off.

"You never mind that, Johnny-boy. This here ain't like boot camp. They got us set up at the Holiday Inn near the Johnson space center, with most of the other crew. First class starts at 9:00 a.m." He handed Koenig and Langenfeld each a folder with their names on them, giving them useful information such as class schedules, expenses, and project deadlines. As they checked in, it took Koenig only a moment to realize that they hadn't assigned people to rooms on the basis of specialties. Clearly, they didn't have time for that. They just assigned rooms alphabetically.

Koenig had barely finished unpacking when Keller clapped him on the shoulder. "Johnny boy, I don't know about you but I'm starving." Koenig, who had been so anxious since hearing the news, had not eaten since breakfast. He suddenly became conscious of his rumbling stomach.

"Hell yes, let's eat!" said Langenfeld, which for him was a violent display of emotion. Keller, who seemed to have a natural instinct for finding the best places to eat and drink, led them to a local steakhouse that went by the name of The Shankhill, where he proceeded to order a T-bone rare and a baked potato. During the meal, they all exchanged information about their backgrounds, their hometowns. Koenig's Brooklyn accent contrasted with Langenfeld's flat Pennsylvania speech, and sometimes Keller's drawl barely seemed like English at all. Keller spoke at length about his past, his naval career going back to the waning days of Vietnam. "Yup, started out driving Phantom's in '71. Just in time to meet up with the SA-6. That was bad news. Flying telephone poles, we called 'em. Didn't even show up on our threat receivers. Had the war gone on another year or two, there would have been damn few of us left." he opined between bites of steak. Koenig and Langenfeld seemed at a loss for anything to add to that. Their background was academic rather than military.

"Mmmmm, that's the straight goods!" exclaimed Keller after polishing off his steak. He went to work on his baked potato next, after slathering it liberally with butter. Koenig and Langenfeld each settled for a smaller cut, but Koenig, despite his earlier hunger, found himself picking at his dinner. Keller noticed something in Koenig right away that he had seen before, but inwardly shrugged. It was none of his affair after all, but if he was going to be spending weeks with this man, and going into space, then it would probably be best to get this settled now.

When they emerged from the Shankhill, it was full night. Keller made a quick decision, as was his wont. "You boys in a hurry to get back to the hotel?" asked Keller. Langenfeld begged off, said he wanted to call his wife. Actually, Sam wanted to do that as well, but duty came first. Before Koenig could protest, he found himself being dragged into a bright and smelly saloon with country music playing in the background, and cocktail waitresses uniformed in, to Koenig's wry amusement, denim mini skirts, cowboy boots and brown leather vests. Good God in the Foothills, Koenig thought to himself. 'What the hell am I doing here?' This is all wrong. I'm going to call Rhinehart in the morning, and tell him to forget it. This is not for me. I'm going back to Boston where I belong. Back to Dianna, if she'll take me.

Keller ordered a fifth of Kentucky sour mash, two glasses and ice. Not my first choice for libation, Koenig thought to himself, but when in Rome… The bourbon tasted like liquid fire going down his throat. After the 2nd glass between them, Koenig got up to leave.

"So, what's her name?" Keller asked suddenly.

"What? The girl I left in Boston? Diana. I told you that over dinner." said Koenig.

"No, the one before her." said Keller.

Koenig was dumbfounded. No one had ever been able to read him so easily. A number of responses came to his lips for this huge, affable pilot. Go to hell; mind your own business. The temptation to just walk away almost overwhelmed him. For no reason at all, he said. "Jean. Jean was her name."

For the next hour, Koenig told the story. He paused at several points, unable to continue through the grief that he had so long denied.

In October 1987, John and Jean Koenig were newlyweds living in northern Manhattan. The war that came upon them, and various parts of the world, was sudden. The first warning Koenig had gotten was on his rental car radio, on his way back to his hotel from MIT after a successful job interview at his alma mater. Five minutes into the interview, Bergman and Rhinehart had shared a glance, and the offer was tendered and accepted. Then, the Emergency Broadcast System had cut in on the car radio, ordering everyone to take shelter. By the time it was over, northern Manhattan and the Bronx were gone, along with Paris, Seattle, Donestsk, and a dozen other cities around the globe. Muslim extremists, in an attempt to forestall détente and eliminate the greater and lesser satans, had obtained a tactical nuclear device, mounted it on an old Kelt class Soviet cruise missile, and launched it at Donestsk from inside Turkey. This apparent attack on the USSR from a NATO country had imitated an automatic response from the Soviet defense system. However, awful as the exchange was, presidents Reagan and Gorbachev had immediately gotten into contact with one another, and forestalled the massive release of their respective nuclear arsenals. The bombers had been turned around, and the ballistic missile submarines, each carrying more firepower than was released in all of World War 2, were ordered to stand down.

Once the perpetrators of this deed were identified, retaliation was swift and brutal. The inhabitants of Qum were mercifully given 48 hours to evacuate, after which it was reduced to radioactive rubble. Speaking on a live joint teleconference from Reykjavik , Iceland, Gorbachev and Reagan, flanked by other heads of state, explained to the world that a new era of peace must begin, and that Mecca and Tehran would be next if necessary. The effect this had on the world was galvanizing. Within one week, every nation that had secret programs for WMD's had disarmed and accepted vigorous inspections to verify their compliance. All over the world, support for jihad collapsed almost overnight. Governments in over a dozen Muslim countries were overthrown. Hundreds of leaders of jihadist parties were dragged from their lairs. The lucky ones were arrested. Police agencies, who had for years met stone walls of silence in their hunt for international terrorists were now flooded with informers, and given intelligence of which they could have scarcely dreamed.. They swooped down on terrorist hideouts the world over, seizing huge caches of weapons and explosives, and arresting thousands.

The unlucky ones were publicly lynched in uprisings that made Mussolini's fate seem like an ice cream social by comparison.

All of this was small comfort to John Koenig. Their apartment building had been 5 miles from ground zero. Even so, the shockwave had collapsed the building as Jeanne had been packing her suitcase to leave the city. He had identified her body in a makeshift morgue on Long Island, by a doctor with a foreign accent, so overworked and numbed by what he had seen in the past few weeks, he was perhaps past sympathy.

As you can see, she was carrying a fetus, he had told Koenig, as he handed him a clipboard with a release to sign.

"John, that's rough. But you have to know there was nothing you could have done. If you'd have stayed there, you'd be dead too." consoled Keller.

"I..I left her to die." Koenig had said, his voice full of ashes, the tears coming now.

"Oh, horsecrap!" said Keller, with his usual tact as he filled Koenig's glass yet again. "Listen, I lost four guys from my squadron before Nixon pulled the plug. Four. No warning, just bang. One minute they were there, the next blotted out of the sky. I can still see their faces. Was it because I was a better pilot? Nope. Just plain dumb luck, nothing more. Your Jean didn't deserve to die. McDonough, Connolly, Pierce, and Clark: they were young, sharp guys. They didn't deserve to die either. Poor Connolly, he only had three weeks to go! Why did they die and I made it? I don't know. I ask myself that almost every day." This came out in a rush, which he concluded by downing a generous shot of bourbon. Koenig was sobbing now, and Keller was reminded of his father's favorite Bible passage: "For man born of woman, life is short and full of trouble."

After a few minutes, Keller reached out and put his hand on Koenig's shoulder. "C'mon. We've got a days work tomorrow. And I might have time to call Tessa after all"

"Your wife?" asked Koenig.

"Yup. She'd kill me if she found out I was in a joint like this." he said with a conspiratorial wink. "Don't say a word, ok ?"

"Will do, Sam." said Koenig, although he was slurring his words now. He got unsteadily to his feet. Keller was responsible for half, and maybe more than half of that bottle of bourbon. But Keller was an old hand at this. He steadied Koenig as they left the bar together.

Seven a.m. came too fast for Koenig. The alarm going off next to his bed sounded more like a gong. He swung his feet out and headed for the shower. He noticed Keller was already up and dressed, watching some insipid local morning show, and looking not nearly as bad as Koenig felt. Koenig blasted himself first with hot water, then cold. That helped clear his head well enough to get himself dressed. In the hotel restaurant, Keller ordered for both of them. A big plate of ham and eggs and grits, with cup after cup of strong black coffee went a long way towards reconciling Koenig with the world. Koenig had never had grits before, and decided he liked them. His headache eased and he started to feel more nearly human. On the drive from the hotel to the Johnson Space Center, Houston seemed to look a lot better than it had the previous day, Koenig mused. Keller spared a few surreptitious glances at Koenig as he drove. The man is doing a lot better. You can see the confidence in his every move now. Good. That fifth of sour mash was not wasted, he thought to himself with some satisfaction.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the hangover, or maybe Koenig's excitement at having a lifelong dream finally come alive. Either way, as Koenig got out of the just parked car and started heading towards Building 1, he was so focused on what lay ahead, that he failed to pay the duty that pedestrians owe to automobiles: caution. He was perhaps three steps out into the street when he saw the car, a brown Chrysler, bearing down on him. Keller saw it too but was too far away to do anything. Koenig's first thought was oh shit.

Koenig had heard about people's lives flashing before their eyes. Now it happened to him. His boyhood in Brooklyn.. His first day in high school. His grandfather's funeral in the dead of winter. His first date with Jean. It all passed before him in the blink of an eye. His life was over. Who could have believed it would end- he hit the ground hard, the man behind him throwing a tackle worthy of the NFL. Both men landed hard , and in a tangled heep on the sidewalk, the Chrysler missing them by inches. As Koenig landed and the air was forced out of his lungs, he at last heard the screech of the car's brakes.

"Fella, are you all right?" asked the man, extending his hand to help Koenig up.

"I think so."

"Sweet suffering Jesus, I can't take my eyes off you for a minute!" exclaimed Keller, rushing over.

Koenig assured Keller he was all right, and commenced to brush himself off. He turned to the man who was already walking away. "Hey! Wait a minute."

The man paused and turned. "Thanks for what you did back there. You could have ended up a smear on the street along with me you know, Mr…?"

"Brent. George Brent." said the handsome, dapper man with a mop of blond hair.

….."Brent! George Brent!" Koenig sat up in his bed, in his quarters on Moonbase Alpha, gasping, just now coming out of the dream but remembering it all.

"John, what is it?" asked Helena, awakened by her husbands thrashing. Koenig just sat in his bed, panting from the ( nightmare?), and shaking his head. "What's wrong?" asked Helena again.

Koenig finally turned to look at her. "Brent, and the others.. We have to send them back." he said with soft wonder.

Chapter 1

Major Marcus of the Ape Commonwealth couldn't help but finger the new oak leaves on his uniform tunic as he walked from his office in the War Department towards the presidential compound. The highest ranking chimpanzee in the armed forces in living memory, Marcus thought to himself. Not bad. His handling of the recent encounter with the new humans from Moonbase Alpha had been duly rewarded, he was happy to note. Maybe the coming of these humans is not such a bad thing, he mused to himself. The very thought brought an ironic smile to his face. A mere two months ago, had he expressed such glowing opinions about the presence of armed, intelligent humans, he might have been lucky only to lose his job. Now, the advanced humans seemed to be accepted at all levels of ape society, at least on the surface. This was all the more clear as he walked by Commonwealth Park, which was right off the main crossroads. As was the case every Saturday, trade was happening at a brisk pace. Chimpanzee farmers from the outer settlements mingled freely with artisans and hawkers of all stripes, each selling their wares and arguing over prices. Interspaced with the teeming mass of free-trade minded chimpanzees was the odd itinerant orangutan offering his services as a tutor, teacher, or scribe. Even a few gorillas offering to hire out as private hunters to a chimpanzee farmer troubled by a wolf or cougar preying on his livestock were present. Although the free market was considered a sacrosanct domain of the chimpanzees, all apes benefited from it. But now, in addition to the three classes of apes, he saw a party of humans with a table, selling various items. The human settlement of primitives, founded and led by Taylor, had a few hearty souls who would occasionally raid the Forbidden Zone for items from the past. Fine metal knives, tools, pots and pans, and other relics from the deep past were traded for cotton and wool cloth, leather, chickens, sheep, and even the occasional horse. He saw another human doing a brisk trade in coffee beans. Marcus had tried the human drink that was overtaking ape society like wildfire, and had not cared for it. He knew that the orangutans could not get enough of it. Looking at all this, it was getting harder for Marcus to imagine the uproar that the human Taylor had caused when he had appeared five years ago.

As he walked down the main thoroughfare, his bearing erect and his stride purposeful, he noticed the looks he was getting. Younger chimpanzee's looked in awe, and pride, at one of their own holding such high rank. The look from gorillas was more neutral. Yet, as he walked through the main gate of the presidential compound, he gravely returned the salutes of the two gorilla guards. Typically, their faces betrayed no emotion at the sight of a chimpanzee officer. Marcus cast all these thoughts aside as he entered the main office. President Honorius' chief of stuff, a short-plump orangutan named Petronius, greeted him. "Go right in, Major. The president is expecting you." he said.

President Honorius got up from his chair to greet Marcus. "Major, do sit down."

"Thank you, Mr. President." said Marcus, taking his seat on the plush couch across from Honorius' desk. He enjoyed the feel of the soft cushions, quite against his will. The furniture in the war department was all hard and unpretentious, according to gorilla tastes.

"Would you care for some coffee?" asked Honorius as he poured himself a cup.

"No thank you sir." said Marcus, inwardly smirking at the obvious pleasure his commander in chief was deriving from his human beverage.

"To business then," said Honorius. "Major, I need you for another very important mission. As you know, the Alphans have invited a delegation of apes on a goodwill tour of their base on the moon." Honorius had to pause. Despite his reputation as a hard-headed pragmatist, he still had trouble believing all the changes that had happened in recent weeks. " I would like you to be a part of that delegation. Among other things, I need someone to help assess the military capabilities of these Alphans, as well as their intentions."

"My understanding was that the government wishes to uphold peace with the human's now." said Marcus, with some surprise. He was naturally anxious to jump at an opportunity like this, but was puzzled at the president's attitude.

"We do, but prudence dictates caution my dear major. Thus far, the intentions and behavior of these Alphans, and Taylor's tribe, has been above board. But the future is always in doubt. I would be remiss in my duties as head of state if I did not plan for every contingency." said Honorius.

"Of course. But wouldn't a senior ranking gorilla be a better choice for such a mission, Mr. President? I may lack the expertise and experience to give you the type of assessment you need." said Marcus.

"We will have gorilla representation on the delegation of course, but at times the intelligence reports we get from the gorillas are..over processed, shall we say? For something like this, I need a diversity of viewpoints and an unprejudiced eye. That's where you come in , Major."

"I stand ready to serve in any capacity, Mr. President." said Marcus. "When does the delegation depart?"

"The day after tomorrow, one of their eagles is scheduled to arrive in the morning at Commonwealth Park" said Honorius. Before Marcus could respond, Honorius' chief of staff, Petronius, walked in. "Mr. President, your next appointment is here." he announced.

"Ah." said Honorius, and got up. Marcus, taking that for his dismissal, did likewise. As he walked out of the president's office, he passed Colonel Octavius, the acting head of the army , walking in. He automatically saluted, but was unsure of his ground. He had not yet had the chance to meet Octavius. After the salute, Octavius paused and essayed a smile. "I hear congratulations are in order, Major." he said, with a nod to Marcus' oak leaves. Marcus still thought of himself as a lieutenant.

"Thank you, sir!" said Marcus with a grin.

"Keep up the good work." said Octavius as he walked into the president's office.

For a chimpanzee, and a mere major at that, to get such praise and affirmation from the gorilla commander was enough to make Marcus feel like he was ten feet tall as he walked back to his office.

In the president's office, Honorius got right to business. "Colonel Octavius, I asked you here for several reasons. First, I want to make your appointment as acting Army chief permanent, with a concurrent promotion to the rank of Major-General, of course. General Urko has graciously agreed to early retirement. Also, I will be appointing a separate head for the civil guard. One thing that has become clear is that in the future, the armed forces may be taking on very different roles than in the past, and I want to free them from the responsibility of enforcing civil peace. Later this week, I will be appointing a head for the new Police Service of Ape City."

Octavius took this news in stride. Such proposals had been made in the past, but never advanced very far in the orangutan controlled upper house. With all the recent events though, and the president getting high marks for handling them so deftly and avoiding war, Honorius was finding it easier to get his initiatives approved.

"I am honored by the trust you have in me, sir." said Octavius. What else could he say? Urko had been his superior officer for years, but now he was being eased out under mysterious circumstances. Yet, he had to put his personal feelings aside and do his duty to the Ape Commonwealth. For him, as a gorilla, no other course was possible.

"As your first duty as Ape Commander, I want you to fully implement the plan you forwarded to me last week, with a few modifications as I have outlined on this map." Honorius took a map out of his desk and unfolded it. Octavius took a few minutes to review it.

"My only concern is, as I stated in my original proposal, is that some of these units are garrison and 'honor' units. They are gorillas with seniority and influence. They won't take kindly to having to live in the field again." cautioned Octavius after reviewing Honorius changes, which were actually improvements.

"General, to be frank I don't give a damn! One thing that the arrival of these lunar humans has made abundantly clear is that Ape society was stagnating. The way we were caught off guard by these humans is a prime example. Yes, they turned out to be non-hostile, but what if they hadn't been?" said Honorius. "I think your plan is long overdue, and will give us a measure of security, while at the same time helping to shake up ape society out of its complacency. Do whatever you have to, and make it sooner rather than later. I'll back you up to the hilt." assured Honorius.

"Yes sir." said Octavius with relief. "I only hope we won't ever need to put this plan into action."

"So do I, general." said Honorius.

Chapter 2

John Koenig stood motionless in Command Center, never taking his eye of the video feed from the Mayflower.

"Laser gun on target, John." said Alan Carter over the commlink.

"Fire." ordered Koenig.

On the video monitor, a thin red light lanced out from the Swift-class spacecraft. It struck the small Dorcon probe, which exploded immediately in a flash. After a minute, Koenig ordered "Alan, return to base." and closed out the link. Koenig turned to his senior staff standing by. All wore somber expressions, except for Maya who tried, and failed, to hide the fear she felt.

"I just hope we're doing the right thing." said Tony Verdeschi finally, his arm around Maya's shoulder.

"Too late now to worry about it." Maya responded casually.

"Well, I'm glad you think so." said Tony with his usual light-hearted banter.

"I have no choice, Tony. We've been watching that probe for a week. Another week and it might have found something." said Maya.

"I'm still not so sure…" Tony began.

"Tony, we all agreed that the only way that Dorcon probe could have ended up here was via the same wormhole that put us here. We are fairly certain it did not scan moon base Alpha, and was likely too far from its home base to have sent a signal." said Koenig.

"Yes, the most likely scenario is that its mother ship lost contact when it traversed the wormhole, and will presume its lost. At any rate, it was just too dangerous to let it poke around the solar system until it found something." said Victor Bergman.

"With luck, the mother ship will never be able to track it down." said Koenig.

"And what if us destroying it leads a Dorcon ship right to us?" countered Tony.

"That's where you and Petrov and McAndrew come in. We're having a meeting of the defense council as soon as Carter gets back." answered Koenig. "On the off-chance that the Dorcons do show up here, we hope to have some nasty surprises for them."

"John, with this Dorcon threat hanging over us.. do you think we should pause Operation Exodus?" asked Helena.

"We'll be discussing that at the defense council meeting, but for now lets continue. Our plan calls for maintaining a skeleton staff, at least in the short term. That will have to include some defensive capability." answered Koenig. "Sandra, how is Exodus going?"

"On schedule, Commander. Stage 1 is scheduled for liftoff in 2 days." answered Sandra. "Eagle 1 is scheduled to lift off in 3 hours to pick up the ape delegation on Earth."

"Very good. Victor, whats the latest on getting our friends back to where they belong?" asked Koenig.

"I was afraid you were going to ask me that." said Bergman ruefully. Bergman looked down at the floor while he rubbed his neck. Ever since Koenig had shared with Victor the contents of a strange, vivid dream, where long forgotten information resurfaced, Koenig knew that Victor had spent many hours in his lab trying to work out a solution that would put the crew of the U.S.S. Icarus II back into the 20th century, without risking them changing history with the knowledge they possessed. Koenig waited. "I think I have been able, by reviewing the data on the Icarus computer, to understand the time dilation process. Its fairly straightforward. The problem is the Icarus computer, and of course to a lesser extent the crew. How do we erase all knowledge of the future from both? Icarus computer has a holographic memory, so of course a chronological erasure will not work. The only way is a tapeworm, but tapeworm viruses are notoriously tricky. If we do not do it just right, it could corrupt the whole system, and the Icarus cannot perform the reverse time dilation without its computer. The code has to be written manually, and has to be tested thoroughly, which is really slowing us down." Not for the first time, Bergman wished Dave Kano were still with them. This kind of specialist job was right up his alley. Or would have been.

"How long until you're ready?" asked Koeng.

"Three weeks minimum." said Bergman. He knew he would not be settling in a new community on Earth any time soon.

Dave Reilly was in a blue study as he walked into the outskirts of the village of Sursum Corda, ( which he knew from his childhood days as a knight of the altar to mean "lift up your hearts!"). Dusk was approaching and there was now a chill in the air as Autumn approached this part of what used to be known as British Columbia. He still marveled as he looked around at the strange combination of rustic simplicity and modernity of the village: women in homespun dresses more like Amish than any Catholics he had ever known, mixed in with men wearing blue denim bib overalls and straw hats, as though they had walked out of Huck Finn. Mixed in were the priests in their black robes, and a few nuns wearing brown habits like the ones who had taught him grammar and reading as a boy. After discovering Sursum Corda, Dave and Shermeen had been a part of a survey team to assess the community, and offer what help it could. Dr. Nunez had led a medical team, and pronounced the community of four hundred and thirty people awesomely fit. What struck Dave the most was the utter peacefulness he felt when coming here. The feelings this community, and the people that made it up, evoked in him were things he tried not to dwell on, because he could not accurately describe them or even think about them clearly. Homesickness? No, not even close. Home was never like this. Belfast during the height of the Troubles was about as far from peaceable as one could imagine. These folk were Catholic, as he had once been a lifetime ago. Once he had introduced himself and his Irish heritage made itself known by his speech, he waited for the inevitable other shoe to drop. The invitation to attend mass once again, the appeals to his upbringing, etc,. etc. It never came. They treated him kindly, they looked upon him with a strange combination of awe and sadness. A priest had offered to bless him after his first visit, an act of gratitude. He had consented out of courtesy. But not one attempt to scold him or persuade him to rejoin the faith. Not one! He was at once, relieved and disappointed.

The church bell announcing vespers shook him out of his revelry, and he realized he had been standing there looking into space for quite some time. He shook his head, adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, and resumed his walk towards the log cabin in the center of the village and knocked on the door. He heard feet scurrying and the door flew open.

"Dave! Mama, Dave is here!" announced a little blonde girl of about 10 years with a braid down her back.

"Nicole, its good to see you again." he said to the smiling girl as he walked in, removing his hat and tousling her hair with the other hand. As he looked around the dining room area, he saw Marie DuCheins come down the stairs and smile at him. Everyone here smiled, or almost everyone. But it was not the vapid, insipid smile of the salesman, or the blank smile of a religious fanatic going door to door.. Or even the serene smile of some eastern holy man. No, this was different, he thought to himself. This smile was sober and honest.

"Mrs. DuChiens, I'm so sorry to bother you, but.."

"Dave, you're not a bother at all and please, you call me Marie." she answered in her Quebecois accented English, trying and failing to sound severe. She was a petite woman of about 5' 2", with chessnut brown hair, deep brown eyes and an oval face that belayed her gallic ancestry. She turned to Nicole. "Nicole, allez enfermer les poulets!" she ordered. Nicole did not look too happy, but obeyed. Out the door she went.

"She is in the front room." said Marie to Dave.

"Thanks." Dave walked through the rustic wood-framed dining room and opened the door to the front room. Shermeen Williams sat in front of a crackling fireplace reading a small book. She was so engrossed she did not even notice Dave's entrance. Dave sat down next to Shermeen and waited. At length he asked ,"What are you reading?'

Shermeen jumped at the sound of his voice. "Dave?"

"Hi yourself." he said.

She squinted at him, her eyes full of firelight. Then she put a thumb in the book she was reading and lifted it up for Dave. It was black leather with a gold cross on the back.

"What's up?" she asked.

"What's up is that you're a day overdue. Koenig wants that report you promised him, and I'm due for a stint at the Ape Science Institute. We've got to get moving." said Dave. "Why didn't you answer my commlock call?"

"Right." said Shermeen, standing up, ignoring his question. As she closed the Bible and picked up her commlock from a nearby table, Dave noticed it was turned off.

"Let's go, then" she said, walking past him. "Marie?"

Marie turned away from her open hearth, where bread was baking. 'Shermeen, you're leaving?"

"Yes, I've got to get back to Alpha. Please say goodbye to Joseph and Nicole for me" said Shermeen.

Marie showered Shermeen with hugs and kisses. "Yes. You come back soon, ok?"

"I will, Marie." said Shermeen.

On the walk back to the Eagle, Dave needed to use his torch to light the way. Shermeen did not say a word, and for the entire length of the Eagle trip back to Alpha she worked on her written report for Koenig about the Sursum Corda community.


End file.
